


There Might Be Something to That, Maybe

by demonicserenade



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Boats, Humor, LonelyEyes, M/M, The Eye, The Lonely - Freeform, They are married, elias is a lil kinky, hate to break it to ya y'all, jonah magnus can teleport, jonah magnus is a snob, probably not canon compliant, why did we ever forget boats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicserenade/pseuds/demonicserenade
Summary: Ritual making his hard, but boats will always be better than buildings.TL;DR: Peter remakes his ritual. Jonah has some feelings about his style. Or, frankly, lackthereof.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	There Might Be Something to That, Maybe

Peter knows that rituals are probably a great deal more complex than he’s making them out to be. Probably.

But, even so, he’s never met a problem that more boats can’t solve. 

So he goes back to the drawing board. Clearly the flaw with his ritual was not in the concept, but in the execution.

Buildings aren’t boats.

That architect was just too good of a salesman, and he made Peter lose sight of the true vision.

The expanse of Sea is lonely. Isolation is lonely, sure. But true loneliness is in secreting yourself away. It’s in the denial of inclusion, especially when it’s out of your hands. When you are the Out of an in-group: That is when you feel true loneliness in your soul. 

It’s in the yearning, but in the never reaching.

Failing expectations, but faking to the world that you are okay. Better than okay, even. You’re great.

Peter goes to a whiteboard and uncaps a black marker. With a hand in his beard, he contemplates. 

He thinks about how isolating social media is, in a way. People always feeling connected but never actually connecting. There might be something to that, maybe. 

He thinks about radio. Radio is a dying media. It’s speaking out into the void and hoping that someone is listening to you, but not truly knowing until after the fact. He wonders if radio contests are so popular because they make announcers feel like they are being listened to. That they are important. That they matter. That they are real. There might be something to that, maybe.

He thinks about the people who call into those contests. They know that they’re not alone, because they’re listening to someone. What drives them? Is it being included in an ingroup? Is it the gamble? The low-stakes? The opportunity to prove status without having to put up the capital behind it? Or is it the attention they may receive when they’re chosen? The  _ you’re so lucky’s _ and all that. He remembers hearing talk of a Lukas who achieved loneliness, true loneliness, or so the rumors go, by becoming a popstar. Everyone knew-of her but nobody truly knew her or cared to know her. Maybe this is what people like this seek: they mistake being known-of to being known. 

There might be something to that, maybe.

He goes to the deck and begins his contemplation anew. They are in fairer waters now. His crew is heaving and ho-ing away up and down the deck. Usually, he tries not to pay too much attention to his crew. He doesn’t want them to feel too comfortable because, after all, that would be missing part of the point of his exercise. But today, as he sashays his way across the deck, he watches the way they seem to want to leap out of their skins. When they pass by some islands of a relative tropical sort, from a distance, of course, his first mate comes to him and asks if they could anchor for a while.

He gives as stern a look as he can look. But, ultimately, waves his hand, slightly. He has time, after all. And he can’t shake the nagging feeling that this excursion could be important somehow. 

He’s in a ponderous mood, after all. 

So he watches as his crew anchors the ship near an island. He watches as they disembark, and he watches through his spyglass as they meet with people on the island. They sample local wares and swap stories and conversation and laughter.

Peter puts away his looking glass as the envy bubbles lightly through his breast. His calloused hands tighten around the telescope in his hands. He closes his eyes and enjoys, almost, the pangs of loneliness he feels as he breathes in the sea breeze and hears laughter on the horizon.

There might be something to that, maybe.

* * *

Jonah supposes he’s a little impressed. The Lonely has never been known for keeping followers of a driven sort. While still devout, the Lukas’ have different priorities that are passively fascinating to him. And, well, Peter has always been intrepid. 

Still, though, Jonah wouldn’t have expected even Peter to go  _ this _ far. After all, it’s one thing to be a little single-minded in one’s pursuits. Especially if you worship The Lonely, where collaboration is decidedly discouraged on account of its team building potential. 

But where Peter’s previous ritual at least tried to push a little beyond his comfort zone, it seems to have sapped every ounce of the man’s creativity from his sea-weary bones. And either the man’s completely snapped or he’s an absolute genius.

Because, apparently, all Peter has to do to make a new ritual is buy more boats.

And really, can you pay ascetic, uncomfortable tribute to a force of human fear while also indulging in your favorite pastimes?

Objectively: No.

But, who is he to judge, really? After all, he hasn’t seen the goings on first hand. He’s just heard whispers.

But, clearly, this is something that intrigues him. Why not indulge in a little peak?

Channeling his Eye-given abilities, he visualizes Peter Lukas. He sees him just as he is. 

And before he can appreciate Peter’s frame and his general “if you don’t call me Ishmael, you’d better call me daddy” aesthetic, Jonah feels assaulted by just...everything about the room Peter occupies. For fucks sake. Having a third eye only makes this worse. Is he honestly seeing a paisley print in  _ puce _ of all things on a wall in the twenty-first century?

It can’t be. He’s hallucinating. The Eye is onto him, it Knows it Knows it Knows it Knows….

“Oh shut up, will you? Can’t you see there’s more important things to think about than my descent into madness? I mean...the man put a  _ pucey paisley _ on a wall. That’s gotta take slight precedence.”

He doesn’t feel any decline in his general paranoia, but at least the annoying drivel has stopped running around his head. 

Ah. Immortal life’s little blessings.

Speaking of little blessings, he begins to use his now mostly-on-track thoughts to focus on the fabric of Peter’s sailor jacket. Then, he focuses on the sounds of the sea, the smells of an ocean breeze in a...tropical location? 

My, aren’t we in a  _ mood _ , dearest.

As he focuses on Peter’s location, the sensations become gradually more and more real to him until, suddenly, he is feeling and smelling and existing in the same space as his subject matter. Effortless, elegant, sophisticated, suave.

To his disappointment, Peter doesn’t even look up from his carpet swatches before saying “I’m busy, Elias.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Jonah overemphasizes with an eye roll. With a dejected sigh he lounges over the tiny metal bed in the corner, but has difficulty lounging in comfort with all these springs digging into his spine.“I hear you’re hard at work these days with another ritual.”

“Right as usual.”

“I also hear that you’re using boats this time, which, really is more your style anyway, I must say.”

At that Peter looks up at him, a slightly bashful twinkle in his eye, “Do you ever tire of being right?”

“Only with the wrong people. But. Tell me, dear. Why ever would you spend your lunch money on cruise liners?”

Peter seems to decide on a ghastly carpet with misaligned blue stripes down the middle of it. Jonah can practically feel his third eye curling in on itself, just at the prospect of such an abhorrent creation.

“Well, for one thing, people want to go on cruises. Especially free ones. So, you know, that’s a plus.”

“...you’re buying boats so you can give people free cruises.”

“Mhm.”

“And they’ll win them...”

“Through radio contests.”

“Oh, yes, silly me. And they’ll go to...”

“The most exotic, tropical locations in the world.”

“Right, right, I hear you. No downsides to your master plan whatsoever. One more question, though —“

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this like...an irony thing?”

“No, it’s a ritual for The Lonely.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Oops. Looks like you wasted your one question already, Elias. So sorry, but I’m really too busy decorating to talk about this, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate you poofing promptly.” 

Jonah breathes in through his nose. “Fine.”

And he almost leaves then. In hindsight, he probably should’ve left earlier. But the part of him that feels a little bit scolded and likes it (Elias is a kinky bastard, what can he say?) takes hold of the reins. And, with a snap of his fingers, both Jonah and Peter were standing in Jonah’s bedroom. This location, as you might guess, is far from the sea and those dumbass color swatches. 

Peter has turned a beautiful shade of purple by the time he gets his bearings. 

“Magnus. Get me back on my ship.”

“No. It’s a crime against good taste.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Look, I’m fine with you building a ritual or whatever. I’ll even help you rebuild because like, I feel a little bad about what happened the last time you tried a ritual.”

“No you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but I’m a gentleman, so let me pretend.”

“Ah, the gentlemen and the stoner. Sounds like a dynamic duo if I’ve ever heard of one.”

“Fine. I’ll admit it: I want to help you because it bothers me.”

At that, Peter’s brow furrows.

“You have the worst taste in fashion I’ve ever seen, Lukas. I mean. Really. You are a special breed of color blind. It’s awful. People will take one look at their rooms and run kicking and screaming, is that what you want?”

“Well...not after just one look.”

Thankful to finally get somewhere, Jonah continues. “If you let me take lead on some of the more creative aspects of the project, I promise I won’t bug you anymore than strictly necessary.”

“No more poofing?”

“No more poofing.”

“That’s pretty tempting.”

“You should accept.”

“Don’t rush me.”

“Darling, it is impossible to rush a cow across a road.”

“I don’t know what that means, I don’t take kindly to your tone, and I have one more question before we go any further.”

“Yes?”

Peter squints his eyes, his gaze focusing on Jonah’s nonplussed stare. “What do you get out of this?”

Jonah shrugs and scratches his head. “The affirmation of a job well done? I’m serious, Lukas. I’m a little partial to you, you know I am, but you’re more color blind than a bat in a rainstorm and I just can’t stand to see it.”

“Then stop looking.”

Jonah meets Peter’s nonplussed expression to find a flirty twinkle in his eye. Despite himself, he knows he’s probably wearing a similar expression “I don’t think that serves my interests.”

“Hm. I still don’t see how it’s my problem...” Peter begins. Jonah really does roll his eyes, all three of them, as hard as he can bloody well manage. “...but, if it will give you peace of mind...”

Jonah snaps his fingers.

Suddenly, the pair are back on the boat, in the room they left, and Jonah is flinging swatches out an open porthole with the joy of a child on Christmas morning. 

* * *

Peter distantly wonders what he got himself into. But then, he sees how creepy this man seems to look even when he’s obviously happy, if only with himself. 

There might be something to that, he thinks. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> So like I haven't watched The Magnus Archives. My friend just fangirled at me until I was inspired through her inspiration and wrote this. She has assured me that I haven't made any grievous fandom offenses. If that is incorrect, I apologize. If you have thoughts, though, I'm into these vibes, my guys.


End file.
